


Running from the Mafia, Running to You

by Angelic_Xia



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Adopted Kitty Gokudera Hayato, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Crossdressing, M/M, No He’s Not Actually a Cat In This, Parental Shamal, Parental Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, Running Away, Tsuna Can Cook, Unreliable Narrator(s), We All See What You Did, Yamamoto Takeshi is a Little Shit, technically kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Xia/pseuds/Angelic_Xia
Summary: He thought no one was listening; someone was. Yamamoto takes his chance to run, saving the one who saved him.When sometimes the answer to “I don’t want to be a mafia boss!” really is as simple as “Then don’t! Ahahah!”
Relationships: Onesided Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato, Yamamoto Takeshi/Sawada Tsunayoshi
Comments: 133
Kudos: 344





	1. Chapter 1

“Tsuna, come on, wake up.”

“Nngh.” It’s dark, lights dimmed, and wherever he’s been sleeping is mildly uncomfortable, but his pillow is soft and warm and his blanket is comfortingly heavy. “I’m awake. I’m awake. Is it time to leave for the fight?”

His pillow shifts. “Ahahah, umm, about that. We kinda … aren’t going.”

He sits up, the heavy blanket thudding into his lap. “EHH?! What do you mean we’re not … going … Yamamoto?” He’s looking around wildly. “Why are we on a bus, Yamamoto?”

Yamamoto looks happy, but nervous. “Well, you keep saying you don’t want to be a mafia boss, right? I kinda, umm, made that happen? They’ll have noticed we’re missing by now. It’s about three in the morning. Dad drove us to Aomori, and now we’re on the night bus to Tokyo. I left the rings. It’s just us.” Yamamoto pulls him into a hug. “I know you think no one listens, Tsuna, but I do. I listened, and I planned, and this was the best time. Now we know you’re not the only candidate, and there were so many distractions, and we had a few hours where no one was looking for you.” Yamamoto pulls him into his arms, against the broad chest, and he relaxes into the warmth and the sound of a steady heartbeat. "Let me help you, please, Tsuna."

He whines high in the back of his throat in an effort to stop the sobs, but can't even begin to stop the tears. "Yes, please." He's mumbling into Yamamoto's chest, held - cradled - in his arms, but he's too tired and fuzzy to care.

He falls asleep to the steady beating of Yamamoto's heart against his ear and his warm, broad hand stroking through his hair, and wonders if this is something he can let himself -

* * *

They get to Tokyo at about eight that morning, and are met at the station by an older man with short brown hair, pale brown eyes, and Yamamoto's nose and chin.

"Yo! Oi-chan!" The man grabs Yamamoto in a headlock and ruffles his hair. "So, this is him? Cute thing."

"Kenta-ji! Enough! Stop! And yeah, this is Tsuna. Tsuna, this is my kaa-chan's brother, Nakamura Kenta." Is that a blush on Yamamoto's face? No, he must have imagined it; it's not there now.

"Hn. Tsuna. Got a family name, Tsuna?"

He's about to answer when Yamamoto interrupts and says exactly the right thing. "Not. Any. More. His so-called father Sealed him when he was five and newly- _Active_ , fucked off an hour later, and finally showed himself again a week ago, trying to force Tsuna and the rest of us to fight the VARIA, and _Xanxus_. His mother's not much better. Didn't realise he was being bullied and beat up for nine years, ignored that he was being shot at and actually shot, and not only with those humiliating bullets. She watched food being stolen right off his plate before he could take a single bite, and praised him for eating everything. No Mist involved. The less he has to be reminded of that crap the better, right, Tsu?" He nods furiously, almost going for a hug but instead pulling the heavy blanket tighter around him. It's a bit too heavy when he's standing, but still comforting. "Here, Tsuna, come on. The sooner we get to the apartment the sooner we can disappear."

"Already done, Takeshi. You entered the blind spot in the cameras on the bus and never left it. We were never here, and until you look different, you won't be. Let's get you two home before my Mist runs out. Never was as strong as Ei-chan would have been."

As he's pulled along, tucked into Yamamoto's side, he manages to stutter out thanks. He's exhausted, and he doesn't even remember anything between then and being tucked into bed. He feels something brush his forehead and Yamamoto's voice, and his uncle's, and the comforting weight of that blanket again, and then footsteps …

* * *

"So, does he know? You Yamamoto usually start wandering before picking a life-partner, but I know that look. The last time I saw it was when I visited just before your birth. You look at him like he's the only person in the world who matters. Like your father looked at Ei-chan. Like Ei-chan looked at you in those pictures."

"He has absolutely no idea. He was neglected and abused and they all called him 'dame', even his _mother_." He spits the word. Nana was no mother to his Tsuna. "I have to be careful. So very careful. He believes he's worthless, stupid, and useless. He has a crush on the school idol because he thinks it's safe, that she'll never look at him, and has no idea he's gay. I was coming to see him one day early on when he walked in on one of his freeloaders showering. The Poison Scorpion. All I got from him was panic and fear: 'shit I walked in on a woman showering and she's going to poison me and I'll die', not 'shit hot older girl who can kill me in my shower'." His uncle snorts in disbelief. "Not joking. She lives in his house and the only time she flusters him is when she offers to cook or tries to, or tries to feed him her food. Hell, I saw Kyoko - his so-called crush - walk out of his house in different clothes and shredded cloth in a bag, meaning Reborn shot her with a Dying Will bullet and kami she's lucky she didn't die from that. He spoke of how she told his mother off for calling him her boyfriend - which I don't believe for a second: she thinks he's basket-of-kittens adorable and has put up with far too much and was probably telling her off for calling him useless - and it's like he didn't even notice the girl was in bra and panties."

His uncle is laughing his head off. "Damn, even I'd notice that and stare, and I'm perfectly happy with my Ichirō and think women are annoying. Damn, kid, he's really not-straight. Anyways, your dad mentioned a 'Gokudera Hayato'?"

Oh. Oh, crap. There goes his face. He's so red he should be glowing, he can feel the heat and the tightness of his skin. "Ah. Yeah. He's a bit too focussed on the idea of Tsu as Vongola Decimo, not as Tsuna the person, and would just draw attention so I had to leave him behind. It's gonna be hard on Tsu, too; Gokudera is the first person who openly showed he thought Tsu had worth, and for all he scares Tsu half to death he's also half Tsu's confidence. If I thought he'd keep quiet and not blow people up for looking at Tsu wrong I'd have brought him along in a heartbeat."

Kenta-ji levels a long look at him. "Takeshi, you know now that you've left him behind -"

"I know! I know I likely blew any chance of having him, too, but kami! I didn't have a chance to begin with! He hates me! I just want both of them, but all he sees is Tsu. He thinks I'm an idiot, a faithless fair-weather friend, an active threat! As if I'd ever turn my back on them. Dad's taking him in for me, to make sure he eats, takes care of himself, calms down. If, one day, he thinks Gokudera can handle coming after us without leading the Vongola right to us then he'll send him on. Still don't think he'll want to be with me though. After all, I took his Juudaime away."

His uncle pulls him into a hug. "Takeshi-oi, if he can't accept that you did all this because it was the only way, then he's not worth it. And besides, does Tsuna even like him like that?"

"No -" he yawns, jaw cracking. "- idea. I'm gonna head off to bed. In case anyone asks, you only had the one guest bed and no extra blankets."

"Takeshi -"

"C'mon, Kenta-ji. Please, let me have one night. I need to remind myself he's here, and safe, and -"

"Brat. Go to bed, cuddle your boyfriend, and we'll talk about how to hide you in the afternoon. Or better yet, tomorrow. From what Tsuyoshi's told me, Tsuna's been terrified out of his own skin for years, and Reborn has just made him too scared to get any rest. He's your responsibility from now on."

"Tsu's mine now, Ji-san, an' no one will get close enough to take him away. 'Ll kill 'em first."

"Sleep."

He curls around his little Tsuna, and Tsuna snuggles back into him, and he barely gets the sheet over himself before he's asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

" _ **Hiiieee!**_ " He's up in a second, crouched over Tsuna with His tantō in his hand when that morning comes back to him. "Ya-yamamoto?! What - where am I? Why were you in bed with me?!" He drops Shigure Kintoki's tantō and it disappears, making Tsuna's eyes widen. "What's going on?"

"Remember last night, Tsuna? This morning? I listened, and got you out, and we're so close to freedom. You won't be mafia, and we may have to move around a bit, but I'll keep you safe now." His little Tsu is looking at him wide-eyed, and then bursts into tears. "Hey, now." He pulls the tiny brunet into his arms and runs a soothing hand up and down his back. "Hey, shhh. It's okay, now."

"Yamamoto I was so _scared_ and no one was listening but _you were_ and th-thank you s-so much!" He continues to comfort Tsuna as his uncle comes in with a tray of snacks and drinks and a note. He sees the milk tea - Tsuna's favorite warm drink - and a glass of milk, and grabs the tea for Tsuna, who is finally calming down. "Here, Tsuna. Milk tea, and there are snacks. But drink a bit first.” The tiny brunet - skin and bones! Doesn’t he ever get to eat?! - sips at the still-steaming drink and starts to relax a bit, still letting out the occasional hiccuping sob as he sips.

He’s waiting, carefully making no move towards senbei, mochi, or onigiri, when Tsuna makes a hesitant motion as if he’s going to snatch the salmon-stuffed rice, but pulls his hand back when he sees his steady gaze. “S-sorry, Yamamoto. You eat. I’ll just … eatwhat’sleftafter.” His eyes widen in horror, and he quickly picks up the salmon onigiri and shoves it in Tsuna’s face. “Open.” The brunet does, slowly, and obligingly bites into the snack, chewing carefully, like he expects that to be the only thing he ends up tasting. “Tsuna, no one here is going to steal food from anyone else. We’re civilised and polite.” Implying that Reborn and Lambo are not, and he sees that idea hit Tsuna like a net bag of wet fish to the face. He sets the bitten-into onigiri into Tsuna’s hand and picks up a mackerel-stuffed one, biting into it; he knows Tsuna hates mackerel. “‘Ow ‘bout a deal?” He swallows. “Anything you eat, I will equal, until I am full. Anything left is yours. If you get full first, I’ll eat a bit more, but will always leave some for you. Okay? And no one touches your plate. If you offer some, place what you’re comfortable giving on their plate if someone accepts. Sound good?” Tsuna nods and eats the last few grains of rice off his fingers, and reaches for another onigiri. They finish the snacks off like that, and it’s Tsuna who ends up eating the most, even with pacing it out.

“The note says dinner’s at seven?” Tsuna sounds unsure, shaky. “And that we can do anything until then, as long as we stay in the apartment?”

“Mm. Kenta-ji’s awesome like that. We can read, play games, watch TV, do nothing? I can make you more tea?”

Tsuna leans into him and yawns. “Nothing sounds good. Haven’t been able to do nothing for almost two years.” His tiny Sky yawns again, and those pretty eyes close, and he’s asleep again before five breaths have passed. He rearranges Tsuna, putting that fluffy head in his lap and covering him with the weighted blanket, and frowns. Tsuna’s short waking and nearly instantaneous sleep are worrying; they mean Tsuna’s been bone-deep exhausted, and the fact his Sky is scared stiff of eating means the food situation was worse than he’d thought. He’d expected rushed eating, food hoarding, the desire to make up the lack of food the other teen had been suffering. For him to be hesitant, to cringe away from eating anything at all, means he’d likely been punished for eating food, whether Nana’s gentle rebukes, the bullies’ straight up stealing of bento, or … had Reborn really hurt his Tsuna for eating? For taking the food he wanted from his own mother’s table? For taking more food that the Cursed hitman wanted? Or was it for looking greedy? He can’t think about this any more.

Two hours later he hears the door open and close, and his uncle’s footsteps. “Aah. Thought it was too quiet. Picked up some clothes for the two of you, and more snacks, and two of those folding GBA systems and some games. Couple of Pokémon games, Minish Cap, Final Fantasy ports, and two copies of Mario Kart. Link cable. Decide between yourselves who gets what system and games. Making curry for dinner, and plenty of it.”

He drags the game bag towards himself and sorts through it. Ooh, nice, Venusaur and Charizard editions, with FireRed and LeafGreen. Ruby and Sapphire, too! Mario Kart for both of them. Final Fantasy I-III, Minish Cap; all major titles that Tsuna had never gotten to play, or the kids had taken, and Nana had been disappointed in him for wanting back. After all, video games are for little kids, she had said, to Reborn’s nod.

It's 3 PM when Tsuna wakes up again, struggling into a barely coherent, vaguely-upright mass. "Nnh? M'I up in time? Wanna help cook."

"You know how to cook?" He's shocked. Tsuna didn't act like he knew how to cook, but then again, he did remember that when Reborn came Tsuna switched fairly quickly from saying bullies stole his bento to saying they stole his mother's food.

"Mm. R'born made me stop, saying that mafia bosses don't cook. Or arrange flowers. Or garden." That last, at least, is a lie. His father mentioned the Vongola Ninth and his habit of talking business over caring for his terracetop garden.

"Dad says Vongola Kyuudaime gardens, or did when he was in Italy. Says he talks business in his garden."

" _Hiiieee_?! What was your dad doing in Italy, to hear that sort of thing?!" Oh. So he really didn't know.

"Contract work. The VARIA is good, but they do the implausibly messy yet untraceable, not silent and stealthy. Dad was an assassin. We all are, the Yamamoto firstborn. Well, I'll be a bodyguard - a protector - but close enough with our enemies. Comes from having a Muramasa tied blood-deep." Tsuna's staring at him, wide awake now. "I was trying to avoid Him, playing baseball, but He called so much, and I put too much of myself into a game my teammates didn't really care about, and when my arm broke …" He shook his head. "But then you saved me, and I answered Him, and I'm happier now than I ever would have been playing baseball." Those clear brown eyes are sad, and he ruffles the shock of floof Tsuna calls hair. "Tsuna, I'm fine. It's a family thing, and look how happy Dad is being a sushi chef. He answered the call, let Shigure Kintoki into his soul, paid his time, and now all he does with Him is take care of the occasional assassin looking to hurt us. He's killed five times as many in the past two years alone as he has since we got to this town. Reborn is not a quiet man and your father has loose lips. Two thirds of the assassins he killed before Reborn showed up came for you and your mother. Your father works for an outside advisory group tied to the Vongola, and brags about his cute family in Namimori. Runs around shoving wallet pictures in people's faces. Says how much he loves you guys, but never visits." He knows his face is dark and his eyes are sharp, hears the angry growl in his own voice, but when he looks at Tsuna there's a blush across those gorgeous cheekbones, and his eyes are glazed.

Oh. Oh! So Tsu likes his dark side? That's … that's actually really hot.

"Anyways, yeah! More than enough time to help with dinner, so let's go enjoy the things Kenta-ji got for us, because we had to leave everything behind. Had to look like this was an opportunistic escape, not something I've been planning for a year and a half!"

"Hiie! I don't want to cause trouble!"

"Honestly, that's the first thing you think of? You're not trouble, Tsuna. You'll never be trouble. I want you to be happy, be your own person, like you wanted me to be." There's a nearly audible snap, the feeling of something clammy and clinging pulling away from them, and a surge in his soul, his Flames. Tsuna’s eyes glimmer orange before dulling, and the pure Sky that had surged forward into a full Bond was sucked inward and smothered.

“What. The _fuck_. Was _that_.” His uncle is in the doorway, staring at Tsuna. “Congratulations, Takeshi-kun, but I think we have Problems. That’s a Seal.”

* * *

He's just setting the rice cooker to start when there's the snap of a severed, fledgling Mist Guardian bond, a surge as Takeshi's Rain is pulled into a full Bond, and then a yawning, sucking emptiness as Tsuna's Flames are sucked back into a … is that a Seal? Fuck. He's going to have to call the Honored Lawkeepers. It's illegal to Seal a Sky without Vindice approval or threat of immediate necessity, such as an insanity-fuelled Rage, and this Seal feels old, and was obviously applied … oh, shit. Active. His nephew had said something about that, but he'd not paid attention.

“What. The _fuck_. Was _that_. Congratulations, Takeshi-kun, but I think we have Problems. That’s a _Seal_.” He didn't realise he'd run to the pair's room, but he's there. "I need to make a call. This is bad. Try and get him to surface, then come sit in the living room. When Icchan comes back tomorrow we need to talk."

"He wants to help cook. Reborn stopped him from doing the things he loved, and I want that back for him. Hate that man. He tried to make Tsuna malleable, to force him into the mafia. Want Tsuna to be confident in who he is and what he can do. That school was terrible, teachers actively changed grades, bullied people, and never offered help. There was no study club, answers were just marked wrong with no feedback even if they were mostly right, and if you weren't great with academics they just tried to make you fail more."

"You're right. That's a terrible school, even with Japan's educational rigidity. In a year or two, maybe we can try to get you two into an international school online. They'll actually help." Tsuna is stirring now. "Hey, there, Tsuna. You okay?" The boy nods, and snuggles back into his nephew. "Hear you wanna help cook. I'm not comfortable with you helping after an episode like that, but how about you think about what you want for dinner tomorrow night and I'll go out and buy things for that tomorrow?" The tiny teen (Seriously, did he ever eat? He knows eleven year old girls taller than Takeshi's love!) fucking _sparkles_ at him, and his nephew looks dazed.

"Un!"

* * *

He’d never expected this.

‘This’ being seeing his Tsu with long, shimmering, wavy chestnut hair (a salon with a creative Sun at the helm can do a lot, apparently) in a calf-length skirt and pretty top and cute sunhat, with a slight but noticeable bust. Tsuna makes a surprisingly pretty girl, looking almost too much like Nana and just enough like himself to make him blush. That it had been Tsuna’s own suggestion would possibly have been the most surprising if it weren’t for the practiced ease his little brunet had in choosing the clothes and putting them on - even the bra with its inserts - and even his easy time acting feminine.

“Was easier, sometimes, to dress and act like this to go out, Takeshi-kun.” Tsuna is more confident, more at ease, and he knows why, now.

“Bullies. I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t do more. I had to keep being popular if I wanted to protect you at all, and it was only safe for both of us to start being open friends when we did, once I was secure in the first string. I wish …” He sees understanding and hope in those gorgeous eyes. “We were friends when we were tiny, Tsuna, we were. I remember you before the Seal, so bright and accepting and …”

“It’s fine. I saw how you never joined in, and tried to deflect, and …” He pulls his little Sky into a hug, kissing the top of his forehead. “Ta-ta-takeshi-kun!” He’s blushing, he realises; his Tsuna is blushing and stammering and it’s adorable and tight heat blooms across his own cheeks in response.

“Tsu…na. I- I always wanted to -”

“You kids okay in he- holy _crap_ , Tsuna, you look -” Mm, he does, doesn’t he? Cute, well put together, confident, absolutely kissable. “You look like you really _are_ a girl.” Tsuna pouts at his uncle, and it looks adorable, like one of those 'spoiled princess'-type idols on TV with puffed-out cheeks and everything, and he tucks a hand against Tsuna's cheek and gently pulls his bottom lip down, resulting in a huffing exhale.

"Don't mind him, Tsuna, you look … amazing. Just … wow." He's leaning in again, pulling the tiny boy against him, just holding him close. "So if this is your idea for disguising yourself, what was the plan for getting out of Japan unnoticed?"

"Well, I know I look older like this with a bit of makeup, and you would, too, if you narrowed your eyes and I did a bit of makeup work on your face, and, well, you'd look like every third older teen in Japan if I do things right. I figured we could go as … brother and sister, or … or …"

Kenta-ji winks at him behind Tsuna's back and offers up a suggestion that has him bright red. "It's more convincing if you're newlyweds going on a honeymoon somewhere. Greece, England, France. Parental permission shouldn't be hard to forge and neither would a shinkoseki, not with my contacts."

Tsuna turns bright red and pulls him into a different room to change back, and he hands the clothes off to his uncle to pay for them. "Tsuna? Do you … mind? Kenta-ji's suggestion, I mean. Would you be able to pull off pretending to be in love with me? Would you mind?"

"You're so openly affectionate that it'll be easy for you, but I don't … maybe? I mean, I'm okay with it, you're my best friend and it's the best way for us to escape notice, but I don't know if I'll be able to act like that." Oh. Oh, no. Tsuna's doing that thing with his index fingers, staring at them intently and pushing them together. Normally it was annoying to watch, but Tsuna makes it cute. “I … don’t mind trying. It might be nice.” Tsuna looks up at him and smiles. “The hugs have been really nice. Wouldn’t mind more of them.”

He can’t help but coo and pull his Tsu into a hug. “You’re absolutely adorable, koi-chan. What name do you want to use?”

“Been using Hasegawa Kizuna for years. Yamamoto Kizuna? Hasegawa-chan is known around Namimori so obviously not me - Tsuna - if people go looking.” He can’t help himself; he pulls Tsuna close, tilts his chin up, and kisses him gently on the nose. When he pulls back, Tsuna’s bright red and dazed.

“Well then, Kizu-koi, let’s get you changed back into your new clothes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry! I meant to get this up at the proper time and forgot that Animal Crossing: New Horizons released that day!
> 
> Anyways, here you go! Enjoy!
> 
> (also, if someone could point me to how to make small caps I’d appreciate it. It has to do with next chapter.)


	3. Chapter 3

He walks into the kitchen one morning almost a week into their stay and nearly chokes; Tsuna’s working on dinner, completely displacing Kenta-ji and Ichirō, and he’s wearing an old apron he’d outgrown the year before all this crazy Mafia stuff started. It’s a little big on the tiny brunet, but the nekozushi print on the front is all the cuter for being roughly the size of Tsuna’s whole head.

“Tsuna, why didn’t I know you could cook?”

“Reborn.” Tsuna almost spat the name. “This was the last thing I shared with Nana and that bastard made me stop.”

“Let me guess: ‘a Mafia Boss doesn’t cook’?” At Tsuna’s nod, he goes and gets another apron and washes his hands. “I’m hopeless at actually cooking but I can prep and watch and clean. Dad says I help a lot just cutting the vegetables and egg and rolling the maki during rushes. Can I help?”

Tsuna slides over a big mass. “This is bread dough. It needs punching and folding.” The little brunet demonstrates. “Think you can do that? Umm … about a hundred times?”

A hundred? That’s a lot; his arms will ache! “Ahahah! Now I know why Tsuna-kun can punch so well!” He starts, and about ten in realises that it’s hard work; his arms already ache. He thought baseball made strong arms, but the strength his little Tsuna would need to do this is incredible!

“Hard work, hmm? If more mafia bosses made bread every morning maybe they’d think twice about what their people and staff do. Maybe then they’d learn the value of hard work. Maybe then they’d not sit on their asses while their sons die and then turn to some foreign civvie kid who’d never even heard of the mafia.” He sounds bitter; bitter and angry and frustrated. “Maybe then there would be less kids like Gokudera-kun, born because of a man’s selfishness and greed and thoughts from his other head, hated because he was brought to live in his house and lied to, poisoned because of who knows what reason but gods is that girl delusional!” There’s the ‘thock’ of a knife slicing through something thick and crisp and a cracking noise as half an apple flies past his face and hits the wall. “Oops. Umm, sorry, broke your uncle’s cutting board.”

He grabs one of the other boards. “Heh, Ichirō’s a Cloudy Storm; he breaks them all the time. No worries. So! Now that’s over, I can tell you Dad has Gokudera, and Bianchi has been … asked to leave town. Very firmly. The local birds aren’t happy with all the bystanders she’s poisoned.”

“Heh, been a while since I heard that phrase; thought they’d moved on once Hibari-san got old enough. Okay, that looks good, plop it in the bowl so it’ll rise.” Tsuna covers the dough with a dishcloth and sets it aside.

They talk a bit more, relaxed, as Tsuna makes beef stew for that night’s dinner. “And so I put the sliced apples in the stew, and she only told me after that those were supposed to be my snack! It came out really tasty though, so we’ve been making Western-style red-meat stews with apples since.” He laughs; little Tsuna was funny.

“You seem … different, Tsuna. More confident, happier. ‘S a good look on you.” He tugs lightly on the braid Tsuna had put his longer hair in, and the brunet spins to swat gently, playfully at his hand. He smirks, catches the smaller hand, and presses a kiss to those thin, tiny fingers.

“Ya-ya-yamamoto!” Oh, cute. Tsuna’s blush spreads down, past his throat and under his shirt (this one an adorable pale purple with cream flowers at the scooped neck; Tsuna’s taken to wearing feminine clothes even at home, and today’s shirt is paired with a knee-length white ‘eyelet lace’ skirt and below-the knee socks with ruffles the same color as the shirt), and he kinda wants to see how far down it goes.

“What happened to Takeshi-kun, Tsuna? I was enjoying that.” Tsuna blushes, and he coos and hugs the smaller teen to his chest, picking him up and sitting them down on a chair, Tsuna on his lap and his face in that impossibly soft, silky hair. “Please keep using my name, Tsu-tan?”

“A-ano, okay. Ta- … Takeshi-kun.” They rest there for a minute, Tsuna relaxing into his hold and laying his head against his collarbone, sighing. "Th-this … this is nice. I don't get hugs anymore. Not supposed to want them. Nana said was too old."

He shushes Tsuna, cradling his head close and running a thumb over one still-too-thin cheekbone. "Any time you want a hug, I'm here, Tsu-tan. No one is too old for hugs, sweetheart.”

“You know, you don’t have to pretend in private.” His heart stops and he freezes. “It must get as tiring as that stupid mask y’wear at school. Wan’ you t’be comf’r’ble.”

“I never have to pretend with you, Tsu-tan. Not ever.” He turns that delicate chin towards him and presses a gentle kiss to Tsuna’s cheek, but he’s already asleep. It’s a curse and a blessing: curse because he wants the boy he’s tucking into their futon to know how he feels; blessing because Tsuna’s not ready.

* * *

He wakes up in bed, warm but alone, hugging an old, beat-up, very clean dog plush, the tag reading “Jirō”, the pointy ears, thin muzzle, and tan-and-cream fur marking it as one of the native dogs. This one doesn’t make him scared the way the few Nana had tried to give him did; instead all he felt was warm, and safe, and something that reminds him of how he felt when Takeshi-kun hugged him earlier. He wants to feel that all the time.

So much so, in fact, that he doesn't even notice he’s been carrying the thing until Takeshi-kun smiles at him, that gentle expression making him feel all melty, and asks, “So you like him? Jirō’s been my best friend my whole life, and the only thing besides the weighted blanket I brought with me.” He takes a moment to think - Takeshi-kun hadn’t brought a bag, but Jirō is big - big enough to hang from his arms like a cat, almost standard cat size; where had he been hidden?

“Oh, same place I hid these when I heard you coming.” Takeshi-kun holds out his hands and suddenly, with nothing in between, there’s a bundle of dark orange sunflowers cradled in those large palms. “These are for you, Tsuna.” Takeshi-kun’s voice is insistent, coaxing, gentle, and he reaches hesitantly for the thick stems, holding the flowers to his face and breathing in the slightly-spicy, tangy sweetness.

“W-why?” He shakes his head at his shy stutter but keeps his face buried among the long, thin petals and huge black eyes of his favorite flowers.

“Because they’re your favorite flowers, Tsuna, and you’ve not had any in ages. Did _he_ make you ignore them? I remember seeing you buying them when Nana took you out with her, but not for a long time.”

He nods. “Un. Said I was too much a wimpy little girl already to like flowers too, made me stop even watering the garden for kaa- … for Nana. Nana just smiled and let him hit me, but never stopped nagging me about watering, and he said to do what she asked but as soon as I picked up the hose he’d hurt me again and it never _**stopped**_!”

Gentle hands cradle his face, wiping his tears away with equally-gentle thumbs as Takeshi-kun rests their foreheads together, shushing him in a way that makes him feel warm instead of told-off. “Shh, Tsu-tan, you’re safe here, treasured; no one will ever hurt you like that again as long as I’m alive.”

**You have a good bond, young Asari.**

He jumps back, spinning, and Takeshi moves beside him … in a deep bow?

“Welcome, Bermuda-dono. How may we help you?”

The baby-shaped thing, obscured in carefully-wrapped bandages and wearing a top hat and suit with tailed coat, rides the shoulder of an adult with similar bandages and clothes, one shadowed eye left unwrapped. He shudders; whatever they are, they aren’t human. Not anymore.

 **Yes, Nakamura Kenta, I see now. Hello, young Sky; I am Bermuda of the Vindice.** These … things! They are the ones who took Mukuro and his people! …Which he’s not all that angry about? He’d been furious about it for weeks, simmering in the back of his head, but he realises he’s not thought about the angry boy or his … companions … since he’s been here. Oh, well. The present is more important.

“H-hello.” He bows and straightens, careful of his flowers, and the figures soften at his care. “Would you like tea? Snacks?”

Bermuda-dono laughs, not unkindly; the sound echoes as if from a spirit. **Thank you, young Sky, but we cannot eat or drink, and what senses besides sight or hearing or touch we once possessed are long gone. We are here about the Seal. Please, sit. Jaeger, the forms.**

* * *

Tsuna’s asleep, the Vindice gone, and he has a few red asters, a spray of orange osmanthus, and a stem of pale blue iris in a vase. It had taken a while to find a good red flower, but asters were spiky, and the red ones meant devotion in the European flower language. He smiles at the representations of their trio in a metal vase, the flowers so saturated in his Rain that it’s unlikely they’ll ever wilt while they live.

“One day” he promises himself. “One day he can join us.”

“Who c’n join’s?”

“Shh, Tsu-koi, back to sleep.” Tsuna snuggles back into his side and he pets his love’s soft, silky hair as a tiny snore catches in his throat. He turns back to the journal he was reading - his ancestors could be fascinating - and just drifts; Tsu is snuggly, and warm, and there’s only the last, clinging membrane of the Seal left, the one stopping Tsu from using his Flames Actively; the welcoming Sky leaking from his Tsu reminds him of when they’d been friends, before Vongola Kyuudaime and Tsuna’s sperm donor had crippled his soul. He basks, and just a bit of a doze won’t hurt, will it?

* * *

He’s pissed. He’s so pissed it actually shows. “I gave Dame-Tsuna to your son, who said he’d keep him safe while he slept off the miniscule amount of training he could accept today. You’re telling me he never came home?”

“Yes, Reborn. He went for a walk after training to cool down and never came back; I assumed he just decided to bother Gokudera-kun or spend time with Tsuna-kun.”

Damn, he can’t read this man, and from the frustrated noise neither could the idiot CEDeF head. “Tsuyoshi-”

“Do not use my name, Young Lion.” The ex-assassin sounds absolutely pissed now. “You come waltzing back into town after eight years away, two years with no phone call to your poor wife, disturbing the town, upsetting the local birds, and not once do you realise you aren’t wanted. What’s worse, you gave my _underage son_ a Vongola Guardian ring without so much as looking me in the eye, putting it in our mailbox in an envelope with Takeshi’s name on it in the dead of night, and if I didn’t know what one of those things feels like Takeshi would have worn it on his bare finger!”

“And the problem with that?”

“My silly son wasn’t Active, you idiot, and has no fear or danger response! It would have tried to force him Active by trying to kill him until his Flames responded, _and they wouldn’t have_!”

Ah. That would be upsetting to a father. He’d have to train a danger sense into the boy, or get rid of him and find another Rain for his tar- er, his student. “That is neither here nor there, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, Autumn Rain.” The men focus back on him where he stands on the table. “Dame-Tsuna is missing, your son too, and the most likely theory is that your son took the Vongola Heir. Where would he go?”

“I have no family; your Sword Emperor killed them all. My wife was disowned when she married me. Where would he know to go?”

The man hasn’t lied; there’s nothing he can call him out on - except being indirect, but that’s just the Japanese way. “Iemitsu, let’s go. There’s nothing more he can tell us.” As much as it galls him, there’s nothing more they’ll get out of the man.

He tunes out Iemitsu’s ranting to think as he stands on the man’s shoulder. Where had he gone wrong? He’d instilled a proper fear and sense of the inevitable in the useless child, brought in a properly Mafia-raised Right Hand, and the boy’s Guardians all seemed to encourage him towards his fate as Vongola Don.

But he’d been arrogant; he’d handed Tsuna off to his Rain Guardian, thinking the boy a civilian who knew nothing, thinking his father would have never told him of his former lifestyle. Why would he? The Underworld made for shit parents as a whole; why would the former assassin-for-hire turned sushi chef be any different?

He must have been, though, must have told his son everything as soon as he saw that Ring; the infuriating brat took his Sky and ran as soon as he had more than a few minutes. How long had he been planning this? How long had he seen that Dame-Tsuna’s protests were genuine and not pro-forma like he had everyone else thinking?

“Chief! We found the Rings!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, everyone. I had a time and a half trying to get the small caps to work! Thanks, Sefiru, for helping me!


	4. Chapter 4

It had been three days ago that his Juudaime had left him to run off with the idiot. He tried not to think about it, but it was a gaping wound in his heart, one he’d probably never recover from. He heard a total, went to hand over the obscene amount of money for a simple bag of preprepared foods for the week, and was stopped by a hand on his wrist.

“Ah, Mōri-san, isn’t that too much for a few conbini meals and some canned coffee?” He looks up at the tall figure, and his heart skips a beat as he sees, for just a moment, the idiot standing there, before his vision clears and he recognises the idiot’s father, smiling down at him. “Let’s go, Gokudera-kun; I’ll bet you could use some better meals than microwaveable udon and soba, hmm?”

The man walks him out of the store a few minutes later with a few snacks, some prohibitively expensive nicotine patches and gum, the painkillers he was probably in there for, and not only a cup of hot, black coffee but a small drip coffeemaker and some preground beans, ‘just until we can get the good stuff in for you’.

“Why?” He has to ask the simple question containing multitudes in one word; why did the chef pick him up? Why him? Why did he sound like he was going to stay for a while?

Why did they leave him?

“Those are some complex questions and I’m not going to answer the last one for a while, kiddo.”

Was he talking out loud?

“Aa. Let’s get you some coffee and a decent meal before I answer your questions.” He’s hustled up a set of stairs in the back of the storage area and into a very comfy backed barstool in the kitchen, obviously the man’s personal kitchen from the high quality and Western looks of the appliances. He very shortly has a hot meal put in front of him, a patch on his arm, and a cup of coffee that’s actually really good for being made drip with conbini preground beans.

“While you eat I’ll go over the house rules, because you’re right: I do intend to keep you here, and I’ll tell you why later. Rule number one: no smoking. I don’t allow it in the restaurant and I won’t allow it here; My wife had asthma and I keep to the same house rules as when she lived.” He nods; it makes sense, if they’d lived smoke-free, to keep it that way, especially with the way the idiot often coughed just being near him, as if he’d never had to spend time around a smoker before.

“Rule two: I will be your guardian, and I expect you to act like it.” Oh, shit, unconditional agreement? Obey or be punished? “This means you will respect me; I expect to be listened to -” Shit. He knew it. “- and if you have objections we _talk_ about them.” Oh! Well, he said talk, but - “I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped into something, Gokudera-kun.” Oh, well, then.

“Three: No bombs in the house or restaurant except for coming or going. I didn’t allow Takeshi more than His tantō in the building, and I expect you to follow that rule. If you do not have an appropriate blade, I will take you to get your preferred style and number. If you don’t know how to use one, I will teach you or find an appropriate teacher.” That’s right; the man was an assassin before managing to retire and marry and have a kid, and he’s seen him sliding through the shadows at night same as himself when there are - were - assassins and hitmen out after Juudaime, and his restrictions are reasonable.

“Good. Four: I don’t expect it immediately but you _will_ continue schooling at an appropriate level, which I expect will mean university level for you, which I will make sure you can pursue from arranging appropriate tests to paying for classes you can take online. Considering I know you’re at least trilingual, if not quadrilingual, you should be able to get into any international university you like. Think about it.” He starts to object; the first place he’s likely to know Juudaime is back is at school, considering Nana hasn’t talked to him since Juudaime left, but then thinks again. He’d know as soon as the idiot set foot in his house that they’d come back, and it would be nice to continue his courses. (He’d not had the money since arriving in Namimori; hits aren’t a thing here unless you’re Triads or yakuza, and he’d attached himself to Juudaime nearly immediately.)

“I’m enrolled at Università degli Studi di Messina, Yamamoto-san, on deferment due to financial issues; it’s not uncommon for street kids, slum families, and hitmen to do that, and no one in financials asks your situation, just tells you that if you don’t pick up a class within five years you have to re-enrol. They do international and distance courses.”

“Then once you’ve passed the high school tests you should choose a class, Gokudera-kun. And lastly, five: I expect you to take care of yourself, which means hygiene, nutrition, exercise, study, and meditation either still or active. We can go over exactly what would be considered meditation later this week.” Hmm. Meditation can be active? He can’t sit still without being either hypervigilant or near his Sky (feeling safe, but same thing), a legacy of his time on the streets, so whatever this active meditation shit is it might just work.

“I also want to encourage you to take up an art, though it’s not a house rule like education is. I know you played piano, and I also know why you stopped; if you eventually want to continue I’ll enable that but until and unless you decide to I still want you to try to pick up something; music with an instrument other than piano, drawing, painting, embroidery, flower-arranging, writing prose or poetry. Takeshi draws, paints, and practices ikebana, and was learning Western flower languages before he left, if that makes you feel better about it.”

As he nurses his cup of coffee, he thinks, swinging his legs and thumping his heels against the single leg of the stool. “I like fashion design, used to sneak into the Italian fashion shows. Lightfingered some of my favorite clothes from the samples and outright bought others - didn’t steal one-offs or from smaller houses.” Yamamoto-san nods and smiles, not quite approving but appreciating the show of morals. “I’d like to start that again but supplies are expensive. I also am really interested in koi breeding; Shamal got me interested in genetics, damn him, and I’d like to learn, and koi are pretty and soothing to watch.”

“I can bring you to a good art store and buy you your supplies, and introduce you to someone who can either teach you to make your designs or get them made; I also know a koi breeder in town - her line has been breeding the Hibari koi for over a thousand years and introduced Flames into some of her fish. You might like the results.”

Then he realises what the man is doing. Tranquilising him! How dare he! “Stop it … you’re dosing me … stop!” He’s being pulled back to the times he’s been Rain-muted before; none of them had been good. The times his employers had tried to kill him, the times the less savoury pleasure-houses had tried to ‘procure’ him, the times his testa di minchia father’s men had caught up to him. But they’d all been weaker than his Storm and he’d easily burnt out the Tranquility muddying his head; this is stronger by several orders of magnitude, and he feels hot and lightheaded and his vision starts to blur, then blacken at the edges, and -

“Oh. Oh, Gokudera-kun.” Yamamoto-san pulls back the Rain; not completely, but enough that he could theoretically burn it out, and he’s breathing hard but calming, feeling his heart slow, his vision returning. “I’m sorry; I just wanted you to calm down, start thinking properly, make rational decisions. I didn’t mean to …”

He burns the rest of it off and then lights one of his Rings, a pale, watery trickle welling from the air just over it. “Show me how. Please. So I can do it myself.” Could this be the answer to his temper? He hates how easy to rile he is, and he _had_ been thinking clearly before he’d started panicking.

“Okay. Come to the living room and we’ll start, Gokudera-kun.”

“Hayato. If I’m going to be living here then please, call me Hayato.” As the older Yamamoto smiles and ruffles his hair, he realises that this thing, living here and having a competent guardian, might not be so bad.

* * *

Okay, he takes back that thought from a week ago. Not the competent-guardian thought, no, that part’s still good! It’s the staying here part that’s not great.

“You little gaijin bastard! Why Yamamoto hired you I’ll never know but you are a worthless bit of hāfu pretty; better on your back than pretending to be a person!” The man had one fist in his apron neck-cord and another in his hair, and it hurts so much his eyes are watering, but he can’t hurt this man; everything he says is true -

“Hayato-kun!” He’s released and the man squeals in pain as he falls at Yamamoto-san’s feet, the ex-assassin planting a leg in front of him protectively. “I’ll ask you to leave my ward alone, Anzai-san, and you are no longer welcome here; Gokudera-kun is both the son of old friends of mine and my son’s friend, and I won’t stand for his mistreatment.” There’s a crowd around the designated smoking area where he’d come for his now every-other-day cigarette, whispering. They part easily as he’s hauled up and gently led back into the restaurant and up the stairs.

“Hayato-kun? Are you okay? Why didn’t you fight back? It would have been self-defense, you’d have been perfectly within rights.”

“Because what he said was true.” He shakes his head at Yamamoto-san’s protest. “No, it is. I’m a bastard, a hāfu, and people have tried to get me for their houses before. And it was good money, better than what I was making with my bombs and what little skills I had, even after unfair house cuts, so I did consider it a few times. I know I’m pretty, and it’s really all I’m worth. Even Juu- no, even Tsuna-sama dumped me on my ass and ran off.”

“Hayato-kun.” He looks up at Yamamoto-san’s oddly serious face. “I want you to listen.” He nods; he’d promised, after all. “I’m going to tell you now why they left you, and then I’m going to tell you an entirely true story.”

He sits up, pays attention; he’s wanted to know why he was left behind for a week now. “You were left behind for several reasons, each as important as the other. I want you to listen to all of them and then think about each one before reacting. The first thing you need to know is that Tsunayoshi-kun truly _did not want_ to be involved in the mafia. He was raised in Japan by a very Japanese mother, bullied and pushed around by those in power who skirted around the rules while paying lip service to them. That sounds very much like the mafia, yes?” He nods his agreement but when he goes to point out that there were Flame Actives and their care to consider he’s stopped.

“I know there’s more to it, Gokudera-kun, but you have to understand that over here, in Japan and much of China, Flames are an open secret. Almost everyone knows they exist, though some of the younger generations dismiss them as old wives’ tales or fantasy stuff. Ki, chi, the energy of the world, whatever you like to call it, it’s all Flames. The Imperial Family even used to call their Flames openly in public before worldwide photographic and video news; within living memory. They still call on them at Court; you’ve heard of the Flames of the Heavens that are the sign of the right to rule, yes?” Oh! Sky Flames! That makes … more sense than it doesn’t, actually.

“Maa, so, you see, Tsunayoshi-kun has never associated Flames with the underworld, at least not the criminal underworld. Extralegal, yes, but not illegal. Tsunayoshi-kun is very much a nonruling Eastern Sky: he wants to keep his own, small group safe, have them close, and maybe hear out Flame issues but not to the degree of ruling over the very criminal Flame Users of an entire section of a foreign country. He wants to stay home and make sure his people are happy and support them, and have someone he can turn to in return. Preferably several people higher than him, now I think. And that’s the why Takeshi left with Tsunayoshi-kun in the first place; to save him from something he really, truly does not want.”

“So why leave me behind?” He’s still hurt and confused, but he understands, now he’s thinking rationally and had the Eastern overview of Flames explained to him, why Tsuna-sama doesn't want to be in charge of Vongola, and it isn’t just what Yamamoto-san had explained to him. It’s more complex, but he’ll work through it later. What Yamamoto-san is saying is more important.

“For a few reasons. Because it was last-minute: Takeshi had an opportunity and took it, and took only a weighted blanket and a toy, both of which he kept in a small Mist-space with a bottle of water. Because you were so stuck on the idea of Tsunayoshi-kun as Decimo that it took them leaving to shake the idea loose. Because you never had a childhood or safety or a real parent and he wanted that for you, rather than to drag you running again. Because you’d have stood out; silver hair, jade-green eyes, a face like yours, and your temper are all very noticeable separately, but together they’re a dead giveaway.” Yamamoto-san sighs again. “I took you in because you need a home, and I want to give it to you, and because I owe it to your mother’s memory and your father’s friendship all these years.”

He stands suddenly, bristling and spitting in rage, wheeling on the older man. “My fucking father?! That bastard wouldn’t care if I caught on fire in front of him! He’d sell tickets! He only wants me for what I can bring him! Reputation, fame, money, my mother’s image! I look nothing like him, and for that I’m more thankful than I am for meeting Tsuna-sama!”

Yamamoto-san is still calm, and- and - why the fuck is he smiling?!

“Maa, maa! You do have your mother’s temper, all right! But if you mean Adriano Falco, no, you look nothing like that man who abducted your mother when she was two months pregnant the night he laid eyes on her.” He’s frozen. Adriano Falco isn’t his father?! But then - 

Yamamoto-san lays four file-folders on the bed. “I see now why he said these would be enough; I assume you can understand them. I can’t, need the accompanying papers, but if you know genetics enough to recognise certain markers -” He nods; that’s easy enough for him now. “- Then you might find these enlightening. When you’re ready to hear the story that goes with them, come find me and we’ll talk.”

When he's alone in the room he opens the first folder, and almost instantly recognises his own profile, with its markers for green eyes, naturally silver hair, and the out-of-place area where Shamal had edited his genes to cure the illness his mother had passed down to him.

The second folder is nearly identical, down to the edited genetics, but the long chain of letters is different enough for him to realise that this is his mother's profile. He really is nearly her clone, isn't he? He pulls out his pencils and highlighters and starts marking the two documents, pulling together different marker chains; highlighting similarities, differences, and things he didn't recognise took an hour or two, but finally he's done, and he's proud to realise he really is her son.

The third folder throws him; there's nearly nothing in it that ties his mother's folder or his own to it, except for a few markers for Flame potential and regional markers for Sicily. He realises then that this must be Adriano Falco's profile, and feels both relief at the fact he truly isn't the man's son and incandescent rage at the Falco Don's audacity, greed, and cruelty in kidnapping a pregnant woman and claiming her child. Stronzo!

The last folder he doesn't even think about comparing to his own, pulling marker chains together first, and only then comparing his own to it. His eyes widen as nearly every major marker chain that didn't belong to his mother matches this unknown man's; this is his father! Then he reads into the Flame markers. Mist. Sun. Lightning. Storm. The marker for collection instead of overwriting that signifies inheriting multiple potentials. Foreign RNA isolation. This is Shamal's profile! Che cazzo!?

He storms into the hallway where Yamamoto-san is waiting, leaning against the wall. “Che cazzo?! That pervert doctor is my father?!” He calms himself, breathing steadily and using his trickle of Rain to tranquilise his temper. “That story, the one you mentioned. Tell me. Please.”

* * *

There was once a girl named Gokudera Kaori Lavina, born of parents from two different countries. They mostly lived in Japan, her father’s homeland, in a tiny town called Namimori. Their bloodline there went back as far as the Hibari had been called the Hibari, and their house was in that quarter, less than a mile from one of the gates into the Hibari compound. There she grew up, learned koto and piano (for her father’s family were all musical and so was she), rode the family horses, and made friends, including Asari Tsuyoshi, Hibari Kasumi and her brother Fon, Yamamoto Eimi, and Hasegawa Nana.

When she was 17, her parents were killed in a train derailment and the only person left to claim her was a distant cousin, who didn’t hesitate (most likely believing she would get access to the not-inconsiderable Gokudera accounts). So she presided over the funeral, picked the bones, interred her parents, made arrangements for the horses and estate, and - with two giant Mist-augmented suitcases, a carry-on, and the carrier with her two cats - left to Italy.

There she met her distant cousin’s cousin’s son, a handsome young man named Shamal, and fell in love. Even knowing about the man’s less-than-legal side occupation, she wanted to marry him. Her cousin wanted bigger things for her, but by that time she was 21 and thus legally an adult in both Japan and Italy - with a successful piano career as well - so she packed up her things and moved in with her hitman boyfriend while he transferred his last few medical classes to Japan.

Her friends were mostly delighted to see her back, Eimi and her now-husband Tsuyoshi especially, and she was immediately pulled into Hibari Kasumi’s wedding plans. Hisakawa Touma was an amazing man, and everyone was happy for the couple, even the notoriously overprotective and Cursed Fon.

Nana was … different. Deliriously happy, apparently married, calling herself Sawada Nana, the already-airheaded woman was in her own little world, content to keep to her new home and only emerging for market trips.

After a year, with her ‘Shakkun’ in his last semester of school, with a job lined up in the Namimori Medical Center as a virologist, geneticist, and Mist-surgeon, Kaori - now going exclusively by Gokudera Lavina professionally- was contacted by her agent with a tour plan. Shamal encouraged her to take it; after all, he had recently cured her genetic disorder and she no longer had to worry about fainting spells and weakness. She accepted the tour, and their last night was … celebratory in nature.

It wasn’t until she was halfway done with her tour that she realised, the night she arrived in Catània, that she hadn’t had a period yet; she was two months pregnant. It was also that night that Shamal, her wonderful husband, told her he’d meet her in Palermo, the night she finished the Italian leg of her tour, and she decided to wait until then to tell him of their child.

And that was also the night a powerful man saw her, wanted her … and took her.

* * *

“You know more of the rest of the story than I do, Hayato-kun. But what I _can_ tell you is that when she started making plans to take you and run - around the time you were six - he had her … removed from the picture.”

Hayato-kun looks at him with an expression remarkably like an offended cat. “Killed, you mean.”

“There is currently no death certificate on file for any combination or mutation of Gokudera Lavina Kaori, nor reports of the death of any woman matching your mother's description between a year before she died and now.” At the boy’s hopeful look, he shakes his head. “She could be dead and unreported, though. I’m not saying she _is_ dead, but I’m also not saying she isn’t. If you can make a tenth of Mammon’s information-search fee either legally or semi-legally, I will pay the rest; I’m also wondering if my friend still lives.”

The boy he’s coming to think of as a nephew winces; it’s still a thousand euros, a hundred thousand yen, but well within means within a year if he works hard. “Considering I’m implementing the same system I used for Takeshi, you’ll make it easily within the year. I give you a set allowance a week, a bonus for every five hours spent in the restaurant, which is paid time as well, and five thousand for every test score above … let’s say 85 for now. Plus other extra, usually unpleasant but generally responsible chores for more bonuses, like scrubbing out the furo, dojo time with me or another teacher, or moving or cleaning the offal bin.”

Hayato-kun scrunches his nose, knowing how unpleasant offal bins can be, and grins. “When can I start?”

He doesn’t let the determined teen know he’s already contracted the esper for search and retrieval, dead or alive; anything to give him life and soul back is a good thing.


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay, so you know your histories, here are your documents, your shinkoseki, your seals, your passports, and, well, Takeshi?”

Takeshi-kun takes out a box, tiny, the size of one of the slightly older boy’s admittedly large palms, and opens it, the old-looking sakura-wood lid sliding smoothly on what looks like wooden hinges to reveal Rain-blue silk with a subtle woven pattern of a hovering swallow and crested wave, three rings sitting in the center.

“I hope you like them, Tsu-chan. I really hope you do. It took a while to pick them out.”

He blushes at how besotted his best friend, his first ordinary friend, sounds and picks up the rings. One is a simple band of pale, hammered gold, the inside with the same pattern as on the silk in the box in a blue lacquer inlay; the matching larger band is a darker gold with an inlay of a single, three-pronged, wavy shape in bright, almost fluorescent persimmon.

The remaining ring makes him blush, because he’d stared at it when they went to a store to pick jewelry for ‘Kizuna’ to wear, and he thought he’d been sneaky. It’s a simple gold band as pale as the other in his size, with a single translucent gemstone in pale blue and jade green, both colours distinct yet merging together in a gentle way; the colours had reminded him of Takeshi-kun’s Flame and Gokudera-kun’s eyes, and he’d wanted it badly, but the price had made him quickly avert his eyes; while Kizuna needed good jewelry to sell the cover the ring had been prohibitively expensive at over two _million_ yen.

He thought he’d been sneaky looking at it, but the way Takeshi-kun smiles at him says the best friend who’s held him close on his bad days, treats him so kindly and gently, and who has almost made him believe he’s actually in love with him _had_ noticed.

“We need rings, Tsu-chan, if we’re supposed to be married. Please say you like it; I noticed you staring at it and you kept sneaking glances whenever you passed it in the store. Do you like it?”

He smiles at the taller teen. “Yes. I do.” The blush that spreads across Takeshi-kun’s face has him thinking about his words and he squeaks and blushes too, then whines as Takeshi-kun slides first the stoned ring with its gentle curved setting and then the band onto his finger. In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness he does the same with the darker gold band, sliding it onto the appropriate finger on that broad, tanned hand.

A set of three thuds startles them out of the moment before a document is slid in front of them. Takeshi-kun looks at it wide-eyed before putting his seal to it and printing his name and a second in neat kanji, handing him his own seal and pointing to a place to stamp. He does, but before he can read it it’s slid back to Nakamura-san; the man raises an eyebrow at his nephew, who shakes his head, earning an eyeroll in return.

“Well, that’s the last of it, kids. Your flight’s in four days; go pack into those new suitcases of yours! I need to go file this and pick up dinner. There’s cake for dessert!” For some reason that makes Takeshi-kun flush an attractive shade of red, like the giant apples in the open air market, and he stares, wondering when he’d -

“Yo!” The familiar voice makes him jump, and oh, kami, they’re found!

He doesn’t realise he’s halfway out the door until Takeshi-kun’s dragging him back, comforting him as he flails in panic. “Shh, shh, Tsu-chan. Shh, it’s okay, we’re okay.” He relaxes back into welcoming arms and allows himself to be led back to the table.

“- early, Shamal.” That’s Nakamura-san?

“You made the poor kid panic; what did you do to him?” Ichiro-san?

“Aa, I may have been brought in by Reborn; you know how I have to act when anyone attached to the Vongola is watching; he knows me as a lazy pervert loyal to that sack of arrogance, not as -” Shamal-sensei’s voice chokes.

“Ara? Shamal-sensei? What’s wrong?” He winces internally at the sound his mother had infected him with.

“Nothin’ you can help with, kid. A Vongola Ally kidnapped my wife when she was two months pregnant and abused my kid for years, not even letting her see him, and then killed her about seven years ago. She was the love of my life, and gorgeous and vibrant, and I didn’t even know she was pregnant until my kid was seven. He’s safe now, but traumatised and I probably made an enemy of him because I didn’t want him to be in danger because of me.” That sounds familiar. Why does it sound familiar? “I appealed to the Vongola when I figured out she’d been taken and who by, but they insisted it was ‘just the way the Mafia works’. Bastards. Now my beautiful, gentle, uninvolved wife is dead, my brat tries to kill me on a regular basis, and I’m stuck acting like a raging pervert because that’s how the goddamn devil sees me and if he knew how I truly felt he’d kill me. So same as you, kid; angry, bitter, scared, hunted, running, and scarred by the bloodiest Famiglia in the world.”

“You’re Hayato-kun’s tou-san!” He blurts out the words, almost surprising himself, but he knows that tone Shamal-sensei used for the word ‘brat.”

“Yes. I am. Gokudera Shamal, husband of Gokudera Kaori, called Lavina; I took her name. Yoroshiku.”

“Hasega- ano, Yamamoto Kizuna. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.” There’s a comfortable silence while they listen to Nakamura-san and Ichiro-san plating dinner; that’s an awful lot of dishes.

“So, kids, I’m here for the next few days, to remove the last of that damn Seal overnight and observe to counteract any complications that might result from the removal. Also, to take pictures and video for Hayato; he’s calmed down a lot, probably will be safe to pass messages with that family sword of yours in a few weeks, and he’s appreciating the stability your father gives him, Yamamoto-kun.

“I’m glad Hayato-kun is feeling safer, Gokudera-sensei. Do you have a video camera?”

After he records a message for Hayato-kun, the dinner passes in a whirl of talk, laughter, good food, pictures, video, cake, and his first taste of sake. At some point Takeshi-kun manages to get frosting on his nose, and he manages to retaliate with a swipe of frosting of his own on Takeshi-kun’s cheek. The last thing he remembers is being tucked into bed, a warm thing to cuddle into, a small good thing to hug, and something brushing his face, and then -

* * *

“Brat, get into something nicer than a restaurant uniform; we’re going out to lunch.”

His words are met by a stinging, cracking slap to the face and a crushing hug. “Papa?” He hugs back just as tightly, knowing that Hayato could have done heavy damage; the kid knew how to enhance his blows with Storm, Lightning, and his overpowered Cloud, but there’d barely been enough of an Electric tingle for it to do more than redden his face and enhance the sting: a punishment for keeping something so big from him, followed by his brat’s real feelings.

“Yeah, Hayacchi; I am.” He feels his shirt dampen, and his son’s shoulders shake, and he can’t help but Mist-travel to the room that feels like his son’s Flames.

It’s a rather nice bedroom, large and open and bright, filled with Western furniture and a piano he recognises from the estate, the one Lavina said she learned on, near wide balcony doors, open to the mild air; there’s no way this room fits in the small living quarters above the restaurant, but a look out the doors shows why. The view is that of a first-story room on a garden with high walls, a small pond and waterfall, and a little cafè table and two chairs. “This is the Asari estate; I just finished decorating yesterday. Apparently I have a trust fund, and I’ve not even put a dent in it with all this. Papa, I’m starting to be happy, even without Tsuna-sama.”

He smirks. “Then you don’t want the gifts I brought back from my little trip?” He pulls out a photo and slips it across the table. It shows Tsuna, long hair braided, leaning forward and making a silly face at the camera; Takeshi is behind him, laughing, resting the bottom of a sign against the little brunet’s back.

“‘The Sky and Rain need a strong Storm’?”

“They need you to stay here, live a normal life for a few years. They miss you, Hayacchi, but want what’s best. And what’s best for now is you learning that sometimes the Mafia is more dangerous to minds than lives.” His son rolls those jade-green eyes at him. “Plus this is a chance for you to not only learn what a normal life is but to build a civilian identity, legally, with a paper trail and a real family to call on when things get bad. You’re not on your own any more, mio figlio.”

“You said gifts?” His boy looks hopeful. “Is there more?”

“Lots.” One of Verde’s little secure tablets, in fact, with videos and photos, and a few little things the boys had picked up for his son. “But first, get dressed, Brat; we’ve got reservations.”

* * *

He plays the video again, watching Tsu-sama (he’d been told that he wanted to be called ‘Tsuna-chan’ or ‘Tsu-chan’, but he’s still working on undeifying his Sky in his own mind, so he’ll work down to it. Eventually) tell him about what’s been going on, how he’s felt since that day, almost two years ago, when ‘that chibified evil bastard’ had shown up, hurt him, assembled and pointed a gun at him, and told him he would be a mafia boss - ‘or else’ - and shot a bird out of the tree next to his room, where he had an anti-squirrel feeder set up, without doing more than glancing sideways.

It’s one of a series of videos from both Tsu-sama and Yamamoto detailing not only the past year-and-change but also their lives, their families, and how the town really works as they pack two Mist-augmented suitcases each. Turns out most of what he’d been told by Reborn about the town, his Sky, and their supposed set was a pile of lies. (A pile of bantha shit, his mind goes, and he doesn’t stifle it; civvie life is so much less restrictive and he’s allowed to be a geeky little shit if he wants. It’s fun.)

The town has nothing to do with Vongola, the Hibari and Asari are both lines older than most of what’s still habitable in Sicily, and Tsu-sama had no idea the mafia was even an actual thing in real life. In fact, this town is a Vindice-recognised Sanctuary and only the fact that Reborn was invited into the town by a legal resident on personal, nonlethal business stopped them from interfering. With the Ring Battles being forced onto several members of the town’s noble Clans and the way the Rings were handed out, the Vindice are now involved. That plus the Seal has the Ninth Generation of Vongola in deep shit.

Tsu-sama being Sealed, bullied, and terrified makes more sense than ‘performative reluctance’, too. The lives his Sky and their Rain had lived had him sobbing the first time he’d watched those videos, so close to rampaging, Frenzying, to cut down those who had hurt them before he spent hours in the dojo and the Hibari’s explosives training ground; he’d made four new actual fireworks for them, and his only test of them had even Papa proud, calling him more gifted than he ever could have been with the coloured aerial explosives.

He’s brought back to himself by a series of thunks, the sound of tanks being set down in the private part of his garden, so well hidden his Papa still hasn’t sensed the working separating his public garden from his ‘work’ garden. Looks like it’s time for another lesson on koi breeding.

“Sensei! Thank you for your lesson today.” Oh, look, that was the appropriate bow, the appropriate volume, and the appropriate solemnity.

“Ready to learn?”

“Yes, Hasegawa-sensei!”


End file.
